Gasoline
by fromthehillbythelake
Summary: Her heart only runs on Supreme. LEMONSSMUT. Jatie oneshot.


**Okie dokie. All of my Jatie stories up to date (all my stories really, lbr) have some angst! and I thought it might be nice to change that up a bit, hehe.  
**

**This honestly has no plot. But lots of pr0n. So if you're into that kinda thing, I hope you like this ;)  
Just a little Jatie smut, cause honestly, what's better? Nothing, really.**

**I don't own a thing. **

**(p.s. Katie is on the pill, so no condoms in this fic. But I would not recommend that in real life, unless you're 100% positive your partner is monogamous and disease-free. And unless you're using your method of birth control correctly. Just a little Sex-Ed. 101 yall, haha)**

**Enjoy, and happy masturbating!**

* * *

**-x-**

"Jake," she hums, staring down at his lips, which are currently fixed in a straight line. His eyes are closed, his breathing steady.

She's lying on top of him, her arms folded up on top of his chest.

"Hmm?" he answers, his voice low and raspy and delicious. He keeps his eyes closed.

She leans her head down slightly, so she's close enough to bite him. She rolls her hips ever so subtly; he could mistake it for a shuffle, but as his eyes flutter open to look down at her through his eyelashes, she knows he understands.

He's wearing a deep green t – the same one he's been wearing all day. It's snug, outlining his chest and hugging his biceps. He rarely exits the house in anything other than plaid, so having to watch him flex and lean and arch all day has her heated.

"_What?" he asked her amusedly earlier that day. He was in between a doorway and the stairwell, knapsack hanging loosely over his broad shoulders. His hair was ruffled, lips red. His shirt collar was stretched taught, pulled apart by his straps. He licked his lips, waiting, and she literally had to restrain herself from pushing him against the wall to make out with him. He looked like he just woke up after some hurried wall-sex and he wasn't even trying.  
_

His fingers make their way under the hem of her jeans, resting on the curve of her ass.

She lets out a shallow breath as she ghosts her lips over his. She closes her eyes just as his breathing stops.

Then he grips her tighter, his mouth still hovering. She imagines he's gazing at her lips, reveling in her frustration.

...

3.

...

2.

_..._

_1-_

...

But she can't finish because he snaps their pelvises together, attacking her mouth with vigour.

His tongue slips out, and she mewls helplessly – Ah, _ah_. His voice rumbles something she can't register and he gasps like he already knows how wet she is.

She starts grinding hard against him, desperate for some relief. It's not enough and too much at the same time, her brain white-hot with it. It must look awkward, but all she knows is that if feels _good_, and she wants _more_.

He sits up suddenly so she's cradled in his lap. She sinks into him, the fabric of their jeans scraping together in just the right way. Her breathing is ragged as he rubs his hands up and down her back, gripping at her hungrily. Her elbows are hoisted on his shoulders now, her hands raking through his hair as she continues to kiss him.

He thrusts his hips up, getting a surprised moan out of her. She looks down at him, her mouth slack, and almost comes right then and there when he starts nibbling on her neck. Her hands are snaking down over his shoulders of their own accord, roaming over his spine to the small of his back. He growls appreciatively.

She's ripping at the bottom of his shirt, wanting to get it off, _off, OFF_ when in one fluid motion he grips her waist with his right arm to flip them over.

She giggles as her back falls against the cushions, their mouths still attached. His lips – which usually kiss hers with such unhurried grace – are frantic, desperate, and needy today. She can barely catch her breath, his bites rendering her limp. He melds her body even closer to his (if that's possible), pulling his lips off hers to press their foreheads together.

She's about to protest – he knows she hates it when he subtly reminds her how much she's at his mercy in bed (though they both know she_ loves_ it when he takes control because she's so domineering in all other aspects of life, and he'd be lying if he said that seeing his perfect ice queen squirming and moaning and begging for _him_ didn't make him shake with lust) - but with his nose touching hers, he reaches down to wrench her fly open.

She flinches suddenly, not with arousal like he hopes, but with the sudden realization that they're in his living room and are about 2.5 seconds away from getting naked.

"What if someone-" she breathes, but he works both hands under her upper thighs to snatch her up, lifting her easily. She gasps, but recovers quickly, wrapping her hands around his neck as he starts moving them towards the stairs.

"Jake-"

"We've got the house to ourselves. Promise, sweetheart," he says, low in his throat. He's at the bottom step when she decides to kiss him, making him fumble against the wall.

"Sorry, sorry," she giggles as they rock about, trying to grapple her legs more securely around his waist, but just succeeding in making him trip.

She's cackling now, the vibrations sending wonderful tremours down to his cock. Still sprawled on top of him, she takes his face roughly in her hands and wetly kisses him.

"Catch me if you can!" she shrieks, punching him in the stomach to get a head start before she pushes off him.

Though she forgot what quick reflexes her lanky boyfriend has, and yelps when he catches her calf.

"Cheater!" she giggle-screams, kicking free and bolting up the last of the stairs.

And she's on the last step when he catches up, her victorious laughter dying out as he corners her against the wall. Her breath is caught in her throat as he leans forward, hands on either side of her against the plaster.

The silence is palpable; she swears she can hear the blood pumping in her veins. She tries twisting her head away, his gaze too intense, but he moves closer, trapping her.

She bites her lip and he can't hold back any longer.

He pushes his hips against hers, though with their height difference, her zipper pushes up into his crotch. His hands are still on either sider of her as he cranes his neck downwards, looking into her icy blue eyes.

The first kiss is chaste, delicate even. Then the dam breaks.

He kisses her with an intensity that she didn't know he possessed, setting her nerve endings on fire.

She's practically purring, and he thinks if she were an animal, she'd be a cat.

"_I hate cats," she sniffed, wrinkling her nose. "They're bitchy, they don't come when they're called, the fucking pellets from their litter boxes get fucking _everywhere_-"_

_He smirked. "So kinda like you then?"_

His arm hurt for a good two days straight.

But he stands by what he said. The way she seems to hiss when she hates something, the way she recoils when she does something wrong, the way she preens with an air of superiority, and how her hackles raise when she feels threatened. Definitely a cat.

"_Well then, you're just a stupid dog," she retorted._ Simple, loving, loyal. She doesn't tell him that they're her favourite animal, though. He already knows.

She moans loudly, and he hedges a thigh in between her legs. She jumps up unexpectedly, and his hands grip the swell of her ass, natural as breathing. He carries her over to his bedroom door, the both of them panting.

He fumbles with the doorknob, and Katie giggles until it finally opens. He can't hold her anymore, and lets her fall against his door once they make it inside his room.

He turns her around (like he knows she likes) so her face is against the frame, her arms folded at the elbow. Her jeans are the first thing to go. The zipper is already undone, so it's easy to pull them down. She kicks them off with every ounce of impatience she feels, gripping the door again and waiting for him to finish.

He rips off his jeans now; then his shirt, then his socks. He's too restless at the moment to get out of his boxers, so instead he reaches for her underwear. She tore off her shirt in the process, looking innocently at him over her shoulder; her electric blue bra slices across her ivory skin. She hasn't even touched him, and he's almost undone.

He thrusts against her ass, his erection prodding her. His heart is racing as he tugs down her lacy black thong, marveling at the way the fabric clings to her wet flesh. It hasn't even fallen off her ankles before he's hooking his fingers inside her. She lets out a keening moan, and his cock twitches at the sound.

He continues his ministrations, his pointer and middle finger slipping in and out. His other hand squeezes her ass, bruising the naked flesh.

"Oh-" she sighs, "_oh_."

He pumps harder, and her thighs start shaking. She's writhing now, her fingernails scratching the door. The slick sounds that he hears as he fingers her nearly sends him over edge.

Her breathing is erratic, and she moans louder as he moves faster.

"Yes," she cries. "God, _yes_!"

His wrist nearly spasms, but he keeps going until she sounds like she's choking. She lets out a final quaky moan before he stops abruptly, swiping his fingers up and down her mound. He kisses her shoulder, reaching around with the same hand to grab her left breast. He gives her a minute to let her catch her breath, leaning against her for support.

She nods softly before turning around.

She looks down at his boxers, smiling demurely. Before he can say anything, she grabs the elastic waistband and pulls down, the cotton pooling at his feet. She's kneeling down in front of him now, and even after everything they've done, he's still amused at the blush that adorns her cheeks.

He pulls her up by her arms so that she's at full height: the top of her head just barely reaching his chin. Without a word she wraps her arms around his neck, one leg up and curling around his waist. He bends only slightly, so he can position himself at her entrance. With one arm across her back, he lifts her, and she hikes up her other leg. She reaches down with one hand to adjust his cock, and looking into his eyes, finally sinks down onto him.

His breath hitches, completely intoxicated with her.

Her arm makes its way back around his neck, and he begins to rock his hips. He can feel her falling (the position difficult to maintain), so he leans her against the door, still gripping her ass. She lets out throaty, breathless moans, and he pounds her harder.

"_Fuck_," he grunts, "oh, fuck." The wet slap of their bodies urges him on, and when she tightens around him, it sends fire racing up his spine. His thrusts are desperate now, and her back arches suddenly.

"Ow!" she whines, a wicked pout adorning her face. "Jake," she gasps, "the doorknob-"

But before she can finish, he turns them around, hedges her more securely against his chest, and throws her effortlessly onto his bed.

"Dick!" she squeals, giggling wildly.

"Sorry love," he smirks, his gaze sweeping up her legs before he crawls languorously on top of her.

She lets out a whimper as he guides her legs open with his knee, pressing his swollen cock against her_. Come on, come on, come on_ she nearly screams, and when she scrapes her fingernails down his back – nose pointed, mouth pinched, eyes predatory – he decides she really is a cat.

"_Ah-"_ she moans when he enters her; arms hugging his biceps, her legs linked together around his waist. He kisses up her neck, which is stretched back, taught with pleasure.

His thrusts are hard and deep and everything she aches for.

The covers are cool against her, though grabbing them fails to give her any sort of release. She arches higher still, breasts spilling out of the bra she doesn't see much use for now that the cups are askew. He's close now, she knows it – his eyelids fluttering, his moans husky and raw.

A blur of red and bronze catches her eye as Jake continues to pulse inside her. It's his Roman soldier helmet, hanging off one of his shelves: an old Halloween costume.

'_The Roman Soldier as described in _De Re Militari'_ she read in one of her textbooks, preparing for a midterm._

_"Let, therefore, the youth who is to be chosen for martial tasks have observant eyes, hold his head up, have a broad chest, muscular shoulders, strong arms, long fingers, not too extended a wait measure, lean hams, and calves and feet not distended with superfluous flesh but hard and knotted with muscles…"_

Watching Jake move in and out of her – his abdomen clenching with each thrust, the sweat falling down his chest, his upper arms shaking, his knuckles white, his strong chin tightening, the golden hue of his skin, his heated gaze under his furrowed brow – she realizes, with relish, that she has her own Greek Adonis. Well, she always wanted to fuck a man in uniform.

"Fuck!" she screams, and a sharp snap of pleasure bursts just below her stomach, immediately seeping through her entire body. Jake bucks a few more times, kissing her shoulder as he comes too, panting heavily.

They're immobile, gasping for breath and unable to speak. Not a force on earth could stop them from smiling though.

She thinks they're done, is just about to curl towards him and take him in her arms, when he grabs her legs and hoists them back against her chest.

She's shaky and nervous, fully exposed to him like this, but with the subtle narrowing of his eyes, she knows he understands.

"You're perfect," he whispers, leaning down to kiss her. She's not, she's the farthest thing from it, but unlike before when she thought he meant perfection as a state of being (cause who could ever love such a broken toy as her?), she now understands that he means perfect as in the girl she truly is. His calm is the ocean, and she drowns in it.

She smiles as he slips his fingers in her again, a soft moan escaping her. He caresses her skin, pulling and squeezing, his lips planting kisses on baited breath. When her eyes are closed, he smacks her hard once or twice, a satisfied squeak escaping her each time. She's wet and wanton, knowing only _he_ could reduce her to a quivering, whimpering, vulnerable mess on the floor; the fact making her relieved and terrified all at once.

For a boy who doesn't talk much, his body knows just what to say in bed.

* * *

It's 2:09am now and she's lying on top of him, one hand folded up on his chest, the other ruffling through his hair. _Definitely a dog_, she decides.

"Jake," she hums. His eyes are closed again.

"Hmm?" he replies, rubbing his hand up her back softly.

"Did you want a blow job? You did a lot for me tonight."

He smiles, but his eyes remain closed.

"Fucking you has made me quite a selfless lover, actually…" he teases, voice low. "I'm good, sweetheart."

"Okay."

-**x-**

2:50am

"What the fuck was that for?" he slurs, sex-crazed.

"Remember when you flipped that asshole hockey player over your back at Clare's party?"

He nods.

"I was thinking about it, and it got me really hot."

His bark of laughter would have woken the entire household if anyone was home, and this time, his arm hurts for a good three days straight.

* * *

**Woohoo ;)  
Review, lovely? I hope that was alright!**

**(A cookie to those who catch the MMFD reference as well!)**


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